Food Fight
by princess-pynkk
Summary: What should have happened after A Little Priest.


_So, this is my first fic. Don't be too scalding with your reviews. I do not own Sweeney Todd or Eleanor Lovett or any of the rest of them. Though I certainly wish I did._

_Anyway. On to the fiction!_

--**Food Fight**--

The two of them laughed as they collapsed onto the bed. They were covered in all matter of bakery item, both of them. It had started off innocently enough, with the two of them talking about who would taste like what when baked into a pie...priests and grocers and Beadles...

Alright, so it didn't start off innocently. Not in the least. But it ended with Sweeney making a comment about "Pie-maker Pudding" and Eleanor throwing a gob of dough at him. The dough itself was dry and floury, thus it left a splotch of flour on his chest.

He smirked, and picked up the dough from it's landing position on the floor. He then chucked it back at her. She ducked, and it hit the wall behind her. She turned around to inspect the damage, but didn't notice Sweeney approaching behind her, with a half-empty bag of flour in his hands...

That is, she didn't notice until she was covered in the aforementioned bag of flour.

Her first reaction was anger, at the loss of all that flour. Her second, and stronger, reaction was joy that Sweeney was finally paying attention to her, in a more-than-just-platonic way. She turned around to find him cackling madly at her rather powdery appearance. So, she tackled him.With both the Barber and the Baker covered in powder, they continued their makeshift food fight, chucking pie crust, salt, and even some pies at each other. Eleanor tried to run into the parlor to escape a rather squishy looking pie, and Sweeney followed, trapping her against a wall.

Eleanor gulped. She was indecently close to Mr. Todd. And she loved it.

Well, the closeness. Not the ale he was dumping onto her head.

She sputtered, getting an unexpected mouthful of the past-expiration alcohol. She coughed as gracefully as she could manage (which wasn't very), and tilted her head to look at her tormentor.

He was looking at her with some sort of strange emotion brewing in his normally unreadable eyes. His eyes took in her face, and she found herself blushing at the intense gaze. So lost and confused was she that she barely noticed him tickling her sides.

Barely noticed, of course, meaning "She noticed quite vividly and collapsed into a fit of giggles."

He lifted her and carried her into the bedroom, tossing her quite unceremoniously onto the bed.

And thus, back to where we were.

When their laughter finally died down, Eleanor lifted her head to look at Sweeney.

He was staring at her again, his brow furrowed, as if he were contemplating something. Instinctively, she reached over to smooth it. He caught her hand, though, and held it gently, still staring at her. She smiled nervously.

"Love, I'm not gonna 'urt you. I was just goin' to- Oomph!"

Her sentence was cut off by his mouth covering hers. It took her a slight moment to remember that this was a kiss, and she should probably kiss him back.

Ah, but when she did remember, kiss him she certainly did.

It was everything she'd been dreaming about for the last month or so, ever since he'd waltzed (or staggered, half dead from hunger and thirst) into her shoppe, expecting his lovely little nit instead of her not-quite-beautiful face and her hardtack pies.

Albert had told her she was beautiful. Albert was also a damn pedophile, practically buying her off her parents as soon as she turned 17. He married her for lust. She married him because her mother thrust her out of the house the moment he proposed. So much for maternal instinct.

This left her without much choice.

She would have loved a seaside wedding, with her in a beautiful white dress, her...groom dressed in a strapping black dandy suit. The waves would have been crashing on the beach, and the moment she said "I do" would have been the most magical, life changing moment of her existence.

That's what she would have loved.

What she got was a courthouse, with Judge Tipin or Turpin or whatever the fucker's name was proclaiming them man and wife, Albert dressed in his printer's apron, her dressed in her raggedy school uniform, holding a bouquet of dandelions she'd picked on her way in.

Albert had been nice enough. That had been the problem. She would intentionally fuck up, trying to do anything to make him show something OTHER than complete acceptance. Making love was sweet...and boring. Albert wasn't a small man, but he was always so gentle, so loving.

It drove her insane.

Eventually she just got into a routine. That little spark of fire in her soul was doused, drowned, and then flat out eliminated.

They opened the bakery together, and that little bit of independence allowed her to live again.

Then Albert died. Heart attack, she told the doctors. Truth was, she'd been baking when Albert had slipped on a rather slippery pie which had fallen to the floor. She could've probably nursed him back to health. She could have probably called the doctor down the road to patch him up. She could have probably stopped the bleeding.

But, that would have required her to stop baking. And her Albert never liked for her to stop baking.

So, she waited till he was good and dead, then headed upstairs, to the abandoned loft. She sat up there for a few moments, working up a good cry. Then she came downstairs, screamed ear piercingly loud, and "fainted."

When she "came to," the doctor informed her of the death of her husband. She cried loudly and heavily. Anyone who knew Eleanor well enough would have known she was faking.

It was a good thing they didn't know her well enough.

After the funeral, she vowed to herself that she would never allow herself to fall into that pattern again. She would never marry for security. She might not even marry for love, since there had been plenty of that from Albert. No, she would marry for the sex. It would have to be rough, hot, passionate, painful sex. The man would have to be a sadist, a cruel, passionate, blood-lusting sadist.

And that's exactly what Sweeney Todd was.

So kissing him was everything she ever dreamed and more. His had this nice little habit of biting her tongue every so often. Her hands were around his neck, and she scratched him lightly. This seemed to get his attention. He pulled away, staring at her with half-lidded eyes. His gaze trailed down to her chest, when suddenly his eyes snapped open. His mouth formed a devilish little smirk, and he moved his right hand from her waist to her neck. He gripped lightly, pulling her close with his other arm, and kissed her again, deeper and more passionately. He massaged her neck as they kissed. She ran her nails up and down his back. This was what she had dreamt of for years. A mystery man dominating her, hurting her. Now, that mystery man had donned the face of Sweeney Todd.

He threw her back further onto the bed and growled. She snarled right back at him. He grabbed her wrists and pinned her arms out to either side. He then went after her neck, kissing, sucking, and biting hard enough to leave black splotches across it and her upper chest. She moaned in ecstasy. So this was arousal, then?

It was rather nice.

At some point he'd undone her blouse and corset, and was now lavishing those bruising kisses across her breasts. She decided now to fight back, and sat up, pushing him to the bedspread and kissing him ferociously. She undid his vest and shirt deftly, scratching across his chest, leaving scarlet streaks across his too-pale skin.

Snarling and biting, the pair spun around upon the bed, each managing to undress the other. With both of them naked and covered in bruises, Sweeney ended up on top, staring into her eyes.The two stay suspended like that for what seemed like an eternity. Both were breathing heavily, and finally Sweeney broke the silence.

"Eleanor...my love. Do you...I mean...Should we...Can we...I-"

She cut him off with a kiss."Yes. Yes, yes my darling. Please."

With that, he threw all caution to the wind.

Neither one had been sexually active in years. So both were incredibly hypersensitive to touch, to movement, to sensation. Eleanor moaned loudly, and Sweeney matched her. They moved together not as one (as so many people are quick to say), but as two, two perfectly imperfect people joined together in one of life's greatest acts.

They moved together, dancing their sinful dance, moving together to their own music. Music of the most carnal rhythm. A melody which grew and grew, counter-melodies entering, the song advancing to a point, crescendos up and up, further on up until-

The climax. The high point.

And then down. Down into the finale. Like a wave, after crashing upon the shore, flowing back. Ebbing back into a calm, peaceful, waveless mass.

Sweeney collapsed on top of her, both flushed and breathing heavily. They laid there like that for a long time, neither speaking, neither daring to disturb the sanctity of the moment. Finally, he pulled out, and the two settled in next to each other, sweat covering their exhausted bodies, as they both fell into a deep, peaceful, and rejuvenating sleep.

--

_So yeah. There it is. Please comment, flame, whatever._


End file.
